


Tasteful Paranoia

by Atlantisqueenx



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Asphyxiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3809884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atlantisqueenx/pseuds/Atlantisqueenx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred pleaded. Between his legs, Ivan freed his arms and attempted to pry away the constriction at his throat. He attempted to speak out Alfred's name, but his trachea was too pressed in. Too starved of air. He never thought he'd successfully break America's mind down to this point, but  his intent to kill was clear. However, he was sure Alfred wouldn't kill him. He was too naive; too pure. </p><p>[Long Drabble | rusame]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tasteful Paranoia

"Why won't you shut up?!"

Alfred stared through the lenses, the stormy blue of his irises dulling into a tired gray. The color reflected how Ivan had perhaps was successful in his forceful reproach of America's soul. What sent even more of a confirmation of how he'd damaged the dirty blonde was the tightening of his fingers around Ivan's neck. America's legs trapped Russia's torso, his trembling arms extended into stiff tools that were used at this moment to kill. 

"Why wont you just go away? All you do is watch me. You're always just behind me. Everywhere." 

Ivan attempted to inhale, his head spinning and pressed to the ground. A failure. He couldn't even put his finger on what it was he said to make Alfred snap, but this was the first sign of him cracking. His throat felt like a large rock weighing down on a garden hose, and he was sure that underneath Alfreds insisting fingers there would be bruises lining his neck. His pale lips opened as if he could absorb the oxygen, but the pressure only tightened. Eyes nearly bulging, he had no choice but to stare at Alfred as his face created an intense atmosphere for his own paranoia. 

"I just want you out." 

Alfred pleaded. Between his legs, Ivan freed his arms and attempted to pry away the constriction at his throat. He attempted to speak out Alfred's name, but his trachea was too pressed in. Too starved of air. He never thought he'd successfully break America's mind down to this point, but his intent to kill was clear. However, he was sure Alfred wouldn't kill him. He was too naive; too pure. 

"Damn it."

Ivan smiled. America loosened his grip, almost subconsciously aware that he didn't have the courage to kill the larger nation. Funny. The hero, too cowardly to eliminate his own enemies. The slight shift in moment was a brutal mistake for Alfred, for the change was enough to allow Ivan to breath. He pretended to struggle still, all the while taking in small gulps of air until the blackness in his vision pulled away. Alfreds head slumped down, tears overcoming him silently. Russia felt the tears of his young, foolish enemy fall against his coat. 

"Fredka," Russia's smirk widened to a wide grin, tension in his dimples preparing to snap his face in two. America felt his fingers run cold, Ivan's voice hitting his ears with distaste. He could've tightened his grip. But he didn't.

With only a few seconds of time, Ivan used his black-gloved hand to sit up and grip the fabric clothing America's back. He skillfully pressed him to the ground, a groan noting how hard Russia had forced him to the ground. As he struggled like easy prey, Russia laid the blonde so his wettened face stared to the sky. 

"Look at me."

Russia now looked down at Alfred as he held his body to the ground, the situation completely reversed from just a few moments ago. He felt his teeth grit as the American turned his head to the side in defiance. Gripping his chin in his hand, Russia jerked Americas head forward in obedience 

"I said look at me."

With fingers that instantly pushed farther into the skin than America could've ever managed, Ivans sweet smile contrasted his actual actions as Alfred lost the color in his face. He'd failed. He'd failed because of who he was. Killing someone else wasn't something he was willing to accomplish. 

But to Russia, he could care less if Alfred was breathing or not. He was always alone. So why did it matter if those surrounding him were alive? 

"Ah, Alfred. Too bad. You missed the correct spot." In correspondence with the faux innocence of the Russian voice, Ivan found a small lump in Alfred's throat, pressing his palm into the skin.

"It's right here, you see. Doesn't it hurt? If you wanted to kill me, you press right here. It's called the laryngeal prominence. Remember that." 

Ivan felt Alfreds legs underneath him jerk, almost as if trying to break a wild stallion. Russia's cool purple eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of returning to power over his enemy. 

"But it takes a long time to suffocate someone completely. Use it as a last resort." 

For some reason, Russia watched his own hands liberate the flesh below. Blue-Purple shapes as smudges formed at the spots where he'd stopped paying attention to how rough he was. In a fleeting moment of silent sympathy, Ivan ran the back of his finger over a bruise cluster. 

Wordlessly, he stood up, letting America twist to his side to cough desperately. He started in the other direction, the sound of his leather boots only stopping when he heard that nasally American voice again. 

"How long do I have to prepare myself before you try to kill me again."

Again, Ivan smiled, nearly laughing.

"Oh America- I am not going to kill you."

"I will break you."


End file.
